


in overtime

by annejumps



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: Still Have Powers, Canon Disabled Character, Charles in a Wheelchair, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Reunited and It Feels So Good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2016-09-02
Packaged: 2018-08-12 12:44:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7935007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annejumps/pseuds/annejumps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Charles he knew ten years ago was far more “cardigan, books, and tea” in a library than “blood, sweat, and tears” on a basketball court, Erik thought. Charles probably didn’t know wheelchair basketball existed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in overtime

“Erik. Got a new project for you,” Tony said, walking into Erik’s office and slapping a folder down on Erik’s desk. “Wheelchairs,” he added, taking a seat.

“Wheelchairs,” Erik echoed, blankly. He swallowed.

“Wheelchairs,” Tony repeated, raising a brow. “You seem a little peaked, I can come back.”

“It’s nothing,” Erik lied, shaking his head. He opened the folder and busied himself with paging through the specs and preliminary design sketches.

“Anyway,” Tony continued, “we want to put out a new line of ultra-high-tech wheelchairs. What with the alloys and everything, you’re the top engineer to head the job. Our keyword is durability. These are wheelchairs for athletes. Must be durable, specially designed for play. Particular center of gravity. Pricey, too. We’ll get everyone briefed on Wednesday, nine o’clock. Have a look at everything, holler if you have any questions before then.” He smacked his palm on Erik’s desk in closing, nodded, and stood up, leaving as quickly as he’d entered.

Erik stared at the specs without really seeing them. He hadn’t thought about wheelchairs in years now. Not since he and Charles had stopped speaking, ten years ago, when they were both still in university.

Just because he was working on a wheelchair product line, though, didn’t mean he’d have to think about Charles. He resolved to stop himself from dwelling on him now, before things got out of hand. Should be easy enough, if he put his mind to it. He focused on the designs instead, and occupied himself with brainstorming.

Wednesday’s meeting contained a surprise, as it turned out. 

“Okay,” Tony said. “First things first. We are going all in for this one, folks, including, ta-da, a field trip. We are going to visit the target market for these wheelchairs.” Erik went very still. “An actual wheelchair basketball team.”

Erik relaxed. Although Charles had mentioned an athletic past before Erik had known him, before his accident, he’d been so focused on his studies and his planned career as a professor that Erik was sure he’d gone through with it. Charles was far more “cardigan, books, and tea” in a library than “blood, sweat, and tears” on a basketball court. Charles probably didn’t know wheelchair basketball existed.

“Erik, as lead engineer, you’re going. Emma, as our sales contact, you’re going. Get some designers to go with you. Pepper’s coordinating everything, touch base with her.”

All right, he could do this.

\-------

The worst of it was, he and Charles had never actually dated. Their big split had honestly felt like a breakup in almost every way, but for the fact that it couldn't be called that. When his mother asked him what was wrong, he couldn’t say he and his boyfriend had broken up. Because words to that effect had never passed between himself and Charles—there hadn’t been the chance for Erik to say anything, which he wasn’t going to do without a clue from Charles that he’d felt the same way. Instead, he’d told her, “Nothing, Mama.”

There was no one to talk to about it, really. No one wanted to hear about how two adult men had stopped being friends, and Erik would have felt silly explaining.

Mercifully, he and Charles had gone their separate ways soon after their final big argument. At least, Erik had been looking forward to their geographical separation as if it presented some kind of real reprieve. As it turns out, it did not—he missed Charles as much as if he’d been his boyfriend in fact rather than just in potential. 

He threw himself into his studies, and then into his apprenticeship, then into his career. He’d dated, but none of them seemed to “get” him—actually, Erik didn’t think there was much to get, it was just that what there was, they didn’t understand.

Not like Charles had.

That was the paradox—Charles had known him and had accepted him better than anyone could, even his mother, but he’d rejected the very principles that were most important to Erik. 

And that had been that.

Erik sat in his living room, looking out his picture windows at the city at night, and felt uncannily like it was ten years ago for a moment—alone, there was no one to talk to about Charles, there was still no way to fix things. Strange that it could still… hurt, after all this time.

And all from Tony simply mentioning wheelchairs.

He wondered how Charles was now. If he really was a professor now. Erik could see him—holding forth in front of a classroom, before a blackboard in a lecture hall, in a tweed jacket with elbow patches, his students swooning over him as Erik secretly had. 

More than once he’d come back to his dorm room from a particularly stimulating, frustrating debate with Charles and, in bed under the cover of darkness, had to rub one out, exasperated with Charles’ everything: his calm blue eyes, his patronizing accented voice, his pink lips, the way his brow creased when he refuted one of Erik’s points. Erik loved, _loved_ when he got rational, gentle, now-now-let’s-not-get-carried-away Charles to huff, to snap at him, to get that flash in his eyes. He wondered if Charles ever had any inkling of how much Erik liked that, if he ever figured it out. Yes, he was a telepath, but he did a decent enough job of staying out of Erik’s head—that was, after he’d told Erik he knew “everything” about him. When it came to dealing with people without the aid of his telepathy, Charles had a spotty record.

Which had made it all the more confounding when the last straw between them had been a difference of opinion on mutation suppressors. 

Erik downed the rest of his whiskey and sat back in his chair for a moment, closing his eyes, before making himself stand up and go to bed. There was no use thinking about Charles. He hadn’t seen him in years, and might never see him again.

All that aside, however, he found himself unable to resist getting a hand around his cock in bed that night, mentally cursing himself and Charles as he came.

\-------

The first time Erik’s telepathic coworker, Emma, tried to plunge into his mind and met resistance, he’d coolly told her “I was taught shielding years ago by a much more powerful telepath than you.” 

(He wasn’t one hundred percent sure Charles was more powerful than Emma, but the odds were good, and some strange twinge of loyalty to Charles had him saying it.)

That hadn’t exactly started them off on the right foot, but as far as Erik was concerned, that was on Emma. 

Since then, they’d reached a general sort of accord and grudging mutual respect, largely based on the fact that each of them had a tendency to terrify their colleagues, and together the effect was magnified. It was not really a surprise that Tony had chosen them to visit the wheelchair basketball team. They excelled at their positions.

They selected the others who would go with them, and transportation was arranged. They might be visiting a gym, but everyone was dressed just like they would be for any other client visit. Emma was in a gorgeous white pantsuit, silk shirt, and heels, and Erik was in a charcoal suit. People expected sales to look good, but often seemed surprised to find an engineer looking sharp. 

The visit started off in the team’s offices, and then proceeded to the court, where practice was in progress. The sounds of the ball bouncing and the players shouting was typical, but Erik noticed that, of course, there was no familiar squeaking of basketball shoes.

Their little group stood courtside, and Erik took a deep breath before allowing himself to really look over the wheelchairs in action, at the other end of the court. Their metal called to him, just as Charles’ once had. And he had to admit, this was a fascinating account; he was already making mental notes about alloys and construction, mind already racing down different pathways. 

The players were extremely skilled and focused. It was evident the team was a tight crew, and well practiced. Erik got a little lost watching, studying the interplay of the chairs. He wasn’t much into sports, since it was boring watching plain humans play. If there’d been mutant-only leagues or suppressant-free mutant players at the least, he was sure he’d be much more interested. Basketball played in wheelchairs was, at least, more interesting than the usual games they had on TV.

Their “tour guide” said words to the effect that they’d be speaking to the players themselves shortly, and to make themselves comfortable in the bleachers. Everyone else in Erik’s party sat, but Erik stood, hands in his pockets, watching.

The practice broke up, and the players started wheeling over to them, laughing and talking. They rolled confidently past Erik, as the “tour guide” spoke to them as a group, explaining why Erik’s firm was there.

Erik wasn’t listening; he was looking at Charles. But no, he couldn’t possibly be looking at Charles. Charles was a professor in some college somewhere. He wasn’t wearing a sleeveless jersey, flushed and sweaty and laughing and perfect, bright blue eyes dancing as he talked to the players around him. 

He couldn’t possibly have come to a stop in front of Erik, brilliant smile rapidly fading, whatever he was saying forgotten as he stopped talking and just stared at him. 

“Erik,” he finally said, quietly and carefully.

“Charles,” Erik replied, fainter than he would have liked. 

Charles’ jaw tightened, his brow creasing. It was evident he was not happy. But Erik could feel nothing from his mind. For a moment he panicked inwardly, wondering if something had happened to Charles, if he’d been experimented on and his powers were taken from him, something disastrous like that. 

Then, like a punch, the likely reality hit him: Charles was almost certainly still on suppressors, the very thing they’d last argued about. Yes, if he wanted to play sports with humans, he’d almost certainly be required to be on suppressors. And of course Charles had just gone along with what the humans wanted.

Erik realized that the others were staring at them; clearing his throat, he raised his chin and took his seat next to Emma, regaining his composure. It wasn’t without its challenges; his attention kept wandering to Charles as the tour guide expounded upon what wheelchair athletes were looking for in equipment. 

Charles looked better than ever. 

The cherubic softness he’d had years ago was mostly gone; his face was leaner, sharper, but he still had those keen, expressive eyes, and his lips were still plush and he still had that hair Erik longed to touch, although now there was a narrow streak of gray evident above one temple. 

Erik decided he would need to avoid concentrating on what apparent years of wheelchair sports had done for Charles’ shoulders and arms, unless he wanted to become even more distracted. Damn Charles, he thought, gritting his teeth as he filed away the image for later.

Charles didn’t even look at him; seemingly having recovered from his shock at seeing Erik, he was conversing genially with his teammates and Erik’s group. Erik knew they were about to notice that he wasn’t contributing at all. His colleagues wouldn’t be surprised, oblivious as they might be to the source of Erik’s silence; however, he had been introduced as lead engineer on the project, so he really ought to say something at some point.

“How much of a factor is the weight of the chairs?”

Charles turned to him in surprise, brows raised. Erik met his steady gaze, and barely heard his answer.

\-------

Emma nudged him sharply with her elbow. “Tell or I’m snooping.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You and the telepath.”

“How do you know—”

“The suppressors aren’t _that_ good. He’s strong.” She turned to him and narrowed her eyes. “He must be the one you were talking about. You have to tell me.”

“We were—just friends.”

She raised a brow and tilted her head at him. “Please.”

“We were.”

Understanding crossed her face. “Oh, Erik. That’s pathetic, sugar.”

“Shut up.”

She continued, heedless, casting an appraising glance over Charles. “He’s really cute. If you don’t tap that, I might.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Erik said, sitting up straight. 

Emma just laughed, causing Charles to look over at them, then to smile at him. God, Charles hadn’t smiled at him in ages. He swallowed, ignoring Emma’s knowing chuckle. Charles’ attention was stolen by one of the other players, and Erik exhaled.

\-------

The next morning, the receptionist put a call through to Erik. “Charles Xavier,” she said.

“Thank you, I’ll take it,” Erik found himself saying immediately, heart hammering. He wasn’t sure what to expect—would Charles be upset with him for surprising him? Was he about to be imperiously scolded?

“Erik?” Just from that one word, Charles sounded pleasant enough.

“Charles.” Erik was cautious. 

“Listen, Erik, I hope you don’t mind, but it was such an unexpected pleasure seeing you yesterday, old friend—I thought I’d ring you today.” Charles’ voice was easy and low, a smile in it.

It didn’t seem like it was an unexpected pleasure judging from the look on your face, Erik thought. “No, I don’t mind. It’s… good to hear from you, Charles.”

“I know you must be busy, I don’t wish to take up a lot of your time—I was hoping, actually, that you might join me for dinner this weekend.” There was just enough charming uncertainty in his tone. “It would be easier for us to talk,” he added.

About what? Erik thought distractedly, heart pounding. “Yes, it would. Where were you thinking?”

Charles named the most expensive French restaurant in the city. Erik was momentarily distracted thinking of Charles bringing all his dates there as a matter of course. Oh, shit, he was going on a date with Charles. Wasn’t he? 

“Is this a date?” he asked.

There was a silence, and Erik felt his nose going numb. 

Seemingly recovering from his surprise, Charles chuckled. “Well, if dinner on a Saturday night means a date, then yes, it is.”

“Right.” Erik watched his metal pen holder slowly bend in half. “Eight o’clock?”

“Splendid. See you then.”

“Yes.”

Ten years without seeing or hearing from Charles, and now after one unexpected encounter they were actually going on a date. Charles’ friendly tone was miles away from the hurt fury Erik remembered after their last argument, or for that matter, from the mildly congenial tones at the gym. 

It occurred to Erik that he should be angry. Charles was hiding in the open, pretending to be something he wasn’t: taking suppressors, playing sports with humans who didn’t know what he was, going along with their rules. And now he thought he could just call Erik and charm him into a date.

Erik had also expected, for a split second, that upon seeing him in the gym Charles would lash out, physically or verbally, and that hadn’t happened either. Once he’d gotten over his evident shock at seeing Erik, he’d behaved normally.

Caught flat-footed in a number of ways, Erik wasn’t sure what to expect at dinner, but he thought of almost nothing else for the rest of the week. He decided he’d wear a dark charcoal suit, no tie, and a crisp white shirt. 

Saturday night came, and Erik made his way to the restaurant. Charles was already there and seated, no doubt at his regular table. Smiling at him as he approached, looking fond, as if they did this all the time. As incredible as Charles had looked at the gym, freshly scrubbed and dressed up (Charles was always a bit of a clotheshorse) he was almost too much.

Erik sat. Might as well get to it. “I’m surprised you wanted to see me, Charles.”

“Why is that?”

“I saw the look on your face when you realized it was me, at the gym.”

“Well. I was surprised, yes. But once I thought about it—doesn’t it feel just like old times to you, in a way?” 

Erik stared. “Not really. Do you find it so easy, to set... all that aside?” He gestured. “Everything we fought over?”

“I’m not setting anything ‘aside,’ but Erik, that was ten years ago. I asked you here to talk.”

“And… we’re talking.” A server appeared at Erik’s side, and poured his wine, the bottle already at the table. 

“Mm.” Charles took a sip of his wine. “To think, we’ve lived in the same city this entire time. I’m surprised you had no idea I was playing, don’t you read your alumni newsletter or watch the local news?”

“I’m not interested in news focusing on humans. I’m not much interested in humans at all.” The server blanched as he quietly asked for Erik’s food order; he decided on a large grilled mushroom stuffed with French cheeses. Just an appetizer.

“You work for a firm run by a human,” Charles pointed out. He said to the server, “Cheese does sound good—Plateau de fromages, I think, please.”

“A mutant-friendly firm. One that doesn’t require suppressors,” Erik said. “There aren’t a great deal of mutant-only companies, Charles, if you haven’t noticed, but we’re working on it.”

“Yes, I suppose you are.”

“Places where no one will have to take suppressors.” And there it was.

Charles sighed. “It makes them more comfortable, Erik.”

“I miss feeling you in my mind,” Erik admitted. “It’s very strange—seeing you and not sensing you.”

Charles smiled. “You know I don’t go into your mind unbidden—”

“But I could still feel you, your presence,” Erik said. 

“The suppressors haven’t worn off yet, that’s all. They usually do in the evening.”

“Why do you take them on the weekends?”

“We have practice and all sorts of things on the weekends as well,” Charles said. 

“Would they even know if you weren’t on them?” Erik said, not bothering to keep the contempt out of his tone. 

“I would know,” Charles replied, with a shrug. Their appetizers arrived.

“So you spend most of your time under the effects of a suppressor.” 

“Only during the day. Not overnight.” 

“And yet I don’t think I’ll be finding that out for myself.” Erik was prepared to stand up and leave, no matter how good this restaurant was—and the mushroom and cheese were delicious.

Charles laughed softly, looking down as he sipped his wine, then glanced up at Erik with those devastating eyes. “I’m sorry to hear that. I was hoping I could take you to bed, at least one night.”

Erik inhaled sharply. “Charles. You can’t just show up again after ten years and say things like that.”

Charles raised a brow, and took a bite of cheese on a thin slice of baguette. “I didn’t just show up. You came to my gym.”

“I wasn’t expecting to see you, nor was I expecting you to ask me to dinner afterward.”

“Well, I did, and now I’m asking you to go to bed with me.”

“Not with suppressors,” Erik found himself saying. “I don’t want anything artificial keeping your mind from mine, not if we’re going to be together. Nothing in your system. And I’m not going to be a one-night stand, Charles.”

“I believe I at least implied I didn’t want you to be,” Charles said, mildly distracted; Erik caught how husky his voice was now, how his eyes had gone darker. “So if I’m understanding you correctly, it’s an ultimatum, then. No more suppressors, full stop.”

“That’s correct.” Erik waited for Charles to refuse. He had a career to think of, he would tell Erik, and you’re not worth giving all that up. He prepared himself anew to stand up and walk out of here and never see Charles again, to tell Tony he wouldn’t continue on the project.

“All right,” Charles said.

Erik nearly choked on his bite of mushroom. “All right what?”

“All right, I’ll stop taking suppressors.”

“Charles. Your career. You said yourself—”

“I’ll have to tell them I’m going off them, and they either accept it or they don’t. If they don’t, I’ll retire, and do something else.” Charles looked calm, decided, as he took up another slice of cheese and baguette, drizzled with honey. 

Erik could hardly believe it. “You wouldn’t—you can’t do this for—”

“For you?” Charles smiled. “Oh yes, my friend. I can, and I will.”

Erik covered his shock with a huff of laughter, looking away from that smile at his remaining bite of mushroom. “If I’d known sex would have turned you against them, I’d have tried that years ago.”

“I rather wish you had,” Charles said. “Only joking of course,” he said when Erik glared at him, “but really, it might have worked. I was desperate for you some days, you know.”

Erik stared at him. “No, Charles, I did _not_ know,” he gritted out.

Charles laughed, and ate a grape. “And here I thought I was being embarrassingly obvious and you simply weren’t interested.” He sighed. Erik realized he was still staring at Charles. “So. You’ll be going home with me, then?”

Erik sighed. “I suppose.”

Charles bit back a grin. “Not to be too forward—”

“—You’ve said three times you’re taking me to bed—”

“—but it’s just easier going to mine. More accessible.”

Erik waved a hand dismissively. “I could carry you anywhere you needed me to.”

Charles raised a brow. “Well, as romantic as that sounds, please, come to mine. I’ll still let you carry me around a bit if you insist on it.” He winked. “I’ve got brandy and a new chessboard to break in.”

“I thought we were going to have sex,” Erik commented, wry. Games of chess with Charles had been… tense, in a myriad of ways, back then. 

“There is such a thing as seduction, Erik.”

“You don’t have to seduce me, Charles, I come pre-seduced.” That wasn’t entirely true—well, it was true he didn’t need to be talked into wanting Charles, of course, but the idea of Charles going to elaborate trouble to get him naked thrilled him in a way he wasn’t entirely comfortable with, or at least in a way he wasn’t prepared to admit to, per se.

“I just have to agree to give up suppressors for you,” Charles teased gently. 

“You shouldn’t be on them in the first place. Charles, do you honestly expect me to wait throughout an entire game of chess when I’ve been waiting for twelve years?”

“Twelve?”

“When we met. When I was two years in.”

Charles laughed. “Well, it seems we’ve both been rather foolish.”

“Mostly you,” Erik replied. 

Charles laughed again, and finished his last bit of cheese and baguette. “Fair enough, I suppose. Allow me to make it up to you.” He signalled the server.

Erik downed the rest of his wine, still barely able to believe what was happening. There had to be a catch—something was going to go wrong, he knew it. 

But up until that point, Erik was going to follow this wherever it led. He’d been waiting this long, after all. 

\-------

Charles had a car, of course—that is, he had a driver. He’d always been wealthy. There were cars adapted for use by the disabled, Erik knew, but with both of them having been drinking, this was for the best regardless. As they waited to be picked up, Erik stood with his hands in his pockets, uncertain, trying not to dwell on what awaited them. 

“They’re gradually wearing off,” Charles commented, quiet. “I know you’re nervous. I assure you, there’s no need to be. I’ll take very good care of you,” he added, voice lowering.

Erik closed his eyes with a soft groan. “Charles.”

“Oh, I very much like you saying my name like that, Erik.”

Opening his eyes, Erik took a deep breath. “I’m not concerned you won’t… take care of me. It’s just… I haven’t seen you in ten years and you’ve never even kissed me.”

“Imagine we’re strangers then, if that helps.”

Erik shook his head. “You know me better than anyone else ever did. I can’t forget that.”

“Right, well, as for me having never kissed you,” Charles said, sounding a little more incensed and yet at the same time amused, “you didn’t exactly give me much of a chance to, you know.”

“We were in each other’s presence quite a bit, as I recall,” Erik said, as the car pulled up—actually, a sleek black van. “Often, even alone.”

“Yes, and you spent the entirety of that time arguing with me. It’s difficult to kiss someone while they’re talking.” 

“As I recall, you were arguing with me,” Erik replied. “And surely you realize I would have stopped as soon as you would have kissed me. I’ll get the chair,” he said to the driver who had gotten out and was opening the door for Charles. Without waiting for a response, Erik opened the back doors and lifted the chair into the van, and closed it before getting in, next to Charles in the back. Charles put up the divider. Trust Charles to have a limo-van.

“So,” Erik said, “you were giving excuses for not having kissed me.”

“And I’ll give you another one. I’m not kissing you until we’re there, alone.”

“Why’d you put the divider up, then?”

Charles turned slightly toward him, biting his lip as he did, and regarded him. “As the suppressors haven’t quite worn off enough to let me block the driver or alter his memory, I think you’d rather he not hear me tell you about how I’d thought for years about sucking your cock. Those words are just for you.”

Erik swallowed.

Charles settled against the back of the seat, tilting his head a bit, going on in a low conversational tone. “I thought about the sounds you’d make, what your voice would do. How you’d taste. It seems tonight, I’ll finally have those questions answered.” Charles kept his gaze, intent, the very tip of his tongue slipping out to glide briefly over his lips.

“What did you decide, back then?” Erik asked, mouth dry.

“I thought you’d try to keep quiet, you’d do everything you could to control your reaction and keep yourself contained.” He smiled. “I’d make you lose control, of course, I always thought. Not that I’d make you do it this way—” he tapped his temple with two fingers— “but rather just because you’d want me so much and I would be so good to you that you’d be helpless in the face of it. Sometimes I imagined you bending all the metal in the room without either of us realizing it.”

Erik exhaled, shifting in his seat, and ran a hand down his thigh. “I thought about you, too,” he admitted, looking down at his hand. “Almost every night, going to bed after arguing with you, I’d be hard. I’d have to take care of it before I could even think about going to sleep. It was… inconvenient.”

Charles laughed, shook his head, and sighed. “I suppose it’s just as well we didn’t start having sex back then. I don’t think we’d have graduated.” He laughed again, a little wistful, looking fondly at Erik. “I don’t think I could have gotten my fill of you. A perilous combination with two young men’s libidos.”

Erik realized suddenly that he could feel the presence of Charles’ mind, and it had been present at the edges of his own for a little while now. Perhaps it felt so familiar he hadn’t immediately noticed its return, even after missing it for ten years. “Charles. I can feel you.”

“Oh, yes you can. Please do, in fact.”

“No, I mean—I can feel your mind again.”

“Ah!” And then there was the always extraordinary feeling of Charles nudging his mind against Erik’s, something Erik realized he’d missed so much that he ached with it. _Hello, darling. We’re almost there_. There was a sort of mental caress, and Erik shivered despite himself. Then Charles withdrew, although Erik could still vaguely sense him.

Erik realized they hadn’t even touched—not at the gym, not at dinner. Not even a handshake.

The enormity of what he’d asked for struck him—sex, with Charles Xavier, with nothing blocking Charles’ power. It wasn’t that he was afraid of Charles abusing his power: it was that he was sure he’d be overwhelmed, that he’d do exactly as Charles said he used to imagine and lose control and open himself completely. 

And that he’d love every second of it. 

“I’d be remiss if I didn’t ask—are you seeing anyone?” 

Erik was surprised by the question. “No. I did get divorced several years ago, but no, I’m not seeing anyone right now.”

“I went through a divorce myself,” Charles said, sounding wry. 

“But you’re not seeing anyone now,” Erik prodded. 

“No. Just you.” Charles put his warm hand over Erik’s. And there it was. Erik closed his eyes. Shit, to be nearly undone with just the touch of a hand. It was like being transported back more than a decade in so many ways, with how he was feeling. Only Charles could have this effect. He cleared his throat, set his jaw, and opened his eyes. Charles cut a glance at him, amused. 

“The tension in your body is really quite remarkable,” Charles murmured.

Erik harrumphed.

“Relax, we’re nearly there.” 

Erik did not relax. Charles kept his hand right where it was, Erik not daring or wanting to move, until they arrived at Charles’ building. 

Erik unloaded the chair—it was a relief to have something useful to do—and with him settled in it, Charles’ driver departed. 

The two of them went to Charles’ study, as they’d done in the past a few times when Charles had Erik come home with him, only this wasn’t in Charles’ childhood mansion but his modern city dwelling. It appeared Charles was in fact going to make him sit through at least one game of chess and a round of brandy, as promised. Back in their younger days, brandy wasn’t exactly a staple, but Erik wasn’t sure it was such a good idea now. Who knew what would happen if they were both imbibing, what foolish things he might say. It was best to only have a taste. Charles was dangerously intoxicating enough on his own.

Halfway into the game he was conscious of Charles smiling at him and waiting for him to look up. Eventually, taking his time, Erik did. Charles’ smile widened.

“You’ve been so quiet. I think,” Charles said, “you accepted my invitation to dinner because you expected—no, you wanted—a fight. And without a fight you’re entirely flummoxed—you spent the last half of the drive here silent! I daresay flummoxed is a good look on you. Anyway, I’m sure sooner or later we’ll end up fighting, don’t worry. It’s our way. Be patient. Until such time,” he continued, “make love, not war.” Eminently pleased with himself, he tipped what remained of his brandy at Erik, and winked.

Erik groaned. “Charles. I still don’t see how you can just… brush everything aside.”

“I’m not brushing anything aside.”

“But… you were a die-hard supporter of suppressors.”

“And perhaps I shouldn’t have been. Opinions do change, you know—they evolve, if you will, over time. That was ten years ago, Erik. I feel as though I’ve—we’ve—been given another chance.”

Erik was silent. 

“Now you’re thinking this is all too good to be true, and there’s got to be some sort of catch. I know you well enough to know that’s what you’re thinking.”

“There’s always a catch. Whether anyone means there to be or not.”

Charles took a drink. “But why be so pessimistic from the start? I’ve just seen you again for the first time in ten years and you’ll be in my bed tonight—I’m hardly trying to come up with ways for us to ruin this.”

“You said we’d fight,” Erik pointed out.

Charles laughed. “Darling, we always fight.”

“Don’t you remember the last fight? The one we parted ways over?” Erik bit out.

“The one we’ve come a long way toward resolving?”

Erik sighed.

“I told you you wanted to fight!” Charles laughed again, softly. “I suppose it was… erotic, in its way.” He raised a brow. 

“I don’t want to fight,” Erik said, sitting back.

“Mm, you just wish I agreed with you on everything from the start.” Charles smiled and took a long drink, emptying his glass. “I won’t have any more, I don’t think,” he said, setting it down. “Do you know, after we… parted ways, I did have a bit of a… drinking problem.” He looked a bit more serious now when Erik met his gaze, gauging his reaction.

Erik swallowed. “I’m sorry to hear that.” Was Charles trying to blame him?

 _No, I’m not blaming you. Merely telling you_. “I think the suppressors, too, were a way of shutting things out. It’s… not easy being a telepath, you know. I think I dove in to the chance to just block all that out. But the drinking—that disrupted my academic career a bit, as well as my marriage.” It seems Charles was far enough away from all that to talk about it matter-of-factly.

“You blocked off your powers just like that?”

“I know you know another telepath, Erik. Perhaps sometime you should ask her whether things are at all difficult for her. All that said, no, it wasn’t easy. Partly because I was thinking about you all that time, how much you’d hate my decision. My ex-wife got me to rehab, but by then I’d taken too much energy from her. I have my doctorate, thanks to her support, but a therapist suggested I revisit sport as a way to channel my energy, and I fell in love with basketball. But of course, I played with suppressors because there are so many who’d mistrust a telepath on the court.”

“And… you’d be willing to give up something so important to you because I asked?” This is what I don’t understand, Erik thought.

“I would try, yes. Because you asked.”

Erik cleared his throat. “What if there are times you need to be on the suppressors?”

Charles raised a brow. “What are you talking about?”

“What if everything’s too much for you and you need a break?”

“Then we will deal with that when it happens.” Charles’ tone carried a gentle finality.

“‘We.’” Erik finished his drink.

“Yes, ‘we.’ As in ‘When we finish this game, we are going to bed.’”

Charles won the game, which Erik didn’t particularly care about. Erik sat back in his chair, regarding Charles, wordless. “My God, Erik,” Charles remarked, “you look like you’re about to be imprisoned.” He chuckled again. “I can restrain you, if you’d like, but that might be a bit much for tonight.”

“Charles.” Erik closed his eyes, with a little groan.

“Erik. What happened to ‘I’ve been waiting twelve years, Charles,’ ‘I’m pre-seduced, Charles’?” Charles smiled, but his eyes were kind, compassionate, and it was too much. Erik looked down again quickly, and swallowed. “I’m not looking to get anyone’s heart broken, you know,” Charles added more gently. “I just would very much like to touch you.”

Erik took a deep breath. “Right, let’s go,” he said, and stood.

\-------

They took the lift to Charles’ bedroom, Erik occupying himself with checking the works of it—he was concerned at the thought of the power going out and Charles being stuck. “There’s a generator,” Charles told him, amused. “It’s fine, Erik.”

The distance from the lift door to Charles’ bedroom seemed interminable. His bedroom was neat and masculine, in dark tones of navy and brown. This was not at all like sitting in a tiny dorm room on Charles’ small bed, the couch piled with books and pizza boxes and bags of chips and bottles, and arguing. And yet it was so similar to those times. 

Charles had taken off his jacket earlier, and he transferred himself from his chair to his bed to sit there against the headboard, relaxed in his blue button-down, which was no doubt very expensive and tailor-made, the better to show off his shoulders. Charles had always been vain.

“Come on, then,” he said, patting the bed next to him. He bent and moved to take off his shoes, and then sat back again. Erik toed off his shoes and walked to the other side of the bed. He sat on the edge. “Erik,” Charles said. “You’ve sat on my bed before.”

“Not like this,” Erik said. 

“More’s the pity. Erik, won’t you kiss me?”

Erik swung his legs up and moved closer. He shifted, turned, and finally touched his lips to Charles’.

 _That wasn’t so hard, was it?_ No sooner had Charles projected that thought to Erik than Erik slanted his mouth against Charles’ and slid his tongue along the seam of Charles’ lips; they parted easily for him, on Charles’ smile, and Erik shifted toward him, kissing him deeply, to a pleased hum from Charles.

How many times had he thought about this? After they’d parted ways, he’d tried not to think about it, never thinking it would be a possibility. 

Now, of course, he felt as though he wouldn’t be able to stop kissing Charles. Just as he’d feared, it was as if a dam had broken. Before he could stop himself, a soft little sound escaped from his throat. Charles hummed in reply, and next thing Erik knew, Charles was cupping his jaw, and then had a hand in his hair, just caressing him, gentle and proprietary. Erik shivered.

They kissed until Erik was slightly out of breath, and had to draw back, gasping just a little. Charles looked flushed, and very pleased, lips pink and eyes sparkling. Erik took a moment to commit that look to memory. “I wonder if you’d do something for me,” Charles said.

“Anything,” Erik blurted.

“I’d very much like it if you’d strip off for me,” Charles said, smoothing Erik’s lapel. 

“If I—”

“Just stand where I can see you,” Charles explained, a hint of amusement in his voice, “and take off your clothes. Nothing particularly fancy, I’d just like to watch you get naked.”

“You don’t want to get me naked yourself?” 

“I’ll start it off, but I’d really prefer to watch you,” Charles said, after a moment of consideration. “I’ve thought about it many times, you see.” He unbuttoned the top button of Erik’s dress shirt. A very simple gesture, but as Charles’ fingertips brushed over the hollow of Erik’s throat, Erik couldn’t help swallowing. He watched Charles’ face; when he was done, Charles looked up and met his gaze, and smiled. “Go on then, darling.”

Erik stood next to Charles’ bed, and took off his jacket, placing it on the bed. He unbuttoned his shirt the rest of the way, unbuttoned his cuffs, and took it off, placing it on the jacket. He didn’t look at Charles, until Charles sighed.

“What?”

Charles was smiling. “You’re wearing an undershirt, you tease.”

Erik sniffed. “I always wear undershirts with dress shirts. It’s only proper.”

With a laugh, Charles ran a hand through his hair, and settled back again, watching attentively once more. Erik pulled off his undershirt, and Charles sighed again, but differently this time. Erik looked at him again. Charles’ lips were parted, and he looked somehow wistful and enthralled at once. He sent Erik a wave of pleasure at seeing him like this that made Erik feel hot all over. _I honestly have thought about this for ages. It’s so much better than seeing you hastily change your t-shirt in your dorm room. This is for me_.

Erik cleared his throat. He was already feeling so… exposed.

“Do continue,” Charles said, encouragingly, but in a notably lower voice. Erik looked right at him as he used his power to unbuckle his belt. He unbuttoned his trousers, and then used his power to slowly slide down his zipper, and lower the trousers to the floor. He stepped out of them, now in just his undershorts and socks, and paused, looking at Charles. 

Charles shifted, licking his lips briefly. He curled the fingers of both hands, as if itching to touch Erik, and a flutter of impatience emanated from him. Erik couldn’t help a chuckle. “Are you sure you want me to take my time doing this over here? Or do you want to finish unwrapping me yourself.”

“Oh, all right, fine,” Charles said with a laugh as he moved himself onto Erik’s side of the bed, “socks off and get over here.” 

Conscious of the fact that he was starting to get hard under Charles’ delighted scrutiny, Erik hastily shed his socks and walked over close to the side of the bed, giving himself a squeeze over the fabric of his shorts. Charles reached for him and and gave him a squeeze as well, and Erik inhaled. He closed his eyes for a moment, and had to look down again—how many times had he envisioned this? He clasped his hands behind his neck.

Charles pulled down the waistband of Erik’s underwear, saying “What have we here?” in a low purr as he wrapped a hand around his cock. Erik quickly hardened fully in his loose grip, so quickly that he felt a bit light-headed, and he swayed a little as Charles gave him a light squeeze. “Oh my,” Charles continued, with his other hand tugging down Erik’s shorts. “Step out of those please, my dear.”

Erik did and kicked them aside, completely naked now with his cock in Charles’ grasp.

“I must say, I’m a bit at a loss for words,” Charles mused, idly stroking him, sounding fascinated. “I always did suspect you were sizeable, but….” Addressing Erik’s cock, he smiled. “It’s nice to finally meet you.” Chuckling softly, he rubbed his fingertips over Erik’s circumcision scar, then looked back up at Erik’s face. If it weren’t for how dark his eyes had gone, he’d almost seem unaffected, but he sent a wave of no less than sheer desire—a pull, a longing, an appreciation. It was almost too much, all that focused on him, and Erik closed his eyes tightly for just a moment. Charles rubbed the pad of his thumb over the tip of Erik’s cock, smearing the bead of wetness there.

“Charles,” Erik managed to say, a shudder passing over him. A minor touch from anyone else, but this was Charles.

“Erik.” Charles beamed at him. “Will you please come up here, and straddle my chest, darling. I’ve been waiting so long to taste you.”

Erik stifled a groan, and once Charles released him and sat back, he clambered onto the bed, straddling Charles as instructed. The appeal of Charles being almost completely clothed while Erik was utterly naked wasn’t lost on him, as much as he wanted a good look at and feel of Charles’ fit bare torso and arms. 

Charles looked at ease where he was, like he was exactly where he wanted to be: smiling up at him, eyes half lidded, a flush tinting his skin as he framed Erik’s hips with his hands. The sight had to be the sexiest thing in existence. Erik’s cock was so hard it bobbed against his abdomen, flushed and sticky. 

“Mmm,” Charles hummed, running his hands up and down the sides of Erik’s hips, slow and proprietary. “Grab on to the headboard, love,” he said, just as he wrapped his hand around Erik again, pulling his cock down and raising his head up to touch his tongue to the tip of it. Erik grabbed the headboard just in time, tightening his fingers painfully on it as Charles licked him. Now, he did let himself groan, unable to tear his gaze away from the sight of Charles Xavier’s pink tongue lapping at the head of his cock, which was leaking copiously under the circumstances.

Charles let go of Erik’s cock, capturing it with his lips as he gripped Erik’s hips in both warm, strong hands and gently but inexorably pulled him forward, taking—pushing—Erik’s cock into his mouth. Erik made a sound like a low groaning sob as he watched, slumping forward. Oh, God, this was going to completely undo him, just as he’d thought, and he’d never wanted anything more.

Charles hummed around him, looking up at him with eyes still half-lidded but mischievous now. He pushed Erik’s hips back, drawing off with a slow tight suction, then pulled him back in again. _Erik. Fuck my mouth_. 

The pull of suction as he drew Erik back out snapped Erik out of his stupor. He pressed forward, encouraged by Charles’ hands, tightly gripping him, guiding him as he found his pace, cock nudging the back of Charles’ throat. 

He’d thought about this so many times, about Charles’ mouth around his cock, so many times he’d left him after hours spent together and gone to bed alone, getting his hand in his underwear and jerking off frantically, trying to be silent, thinking about the tight grip of Charles’ hand, his lovely red mouth hot around him, anything really, just Charles touching him, finally touching him the way he craved.... Charles moaned around him.

 _I wish to God you’d have let me see you like that then_. Charles’ lashes fluttered, color high in his cheeks. _I hoped you wanted me like I wanted you. But I never let myself look to see if you did, and I never asked you_. Feeling sweat at the small of his back, Erik could only pant, hands starting to ache from how tightly he was gripping the headboard, but he didn’t dare let go. _I told myself I’d tell you but I never got the chance_.

“Charles,” Erik gasped. “Later. I can’t process what you’re telling me when—” 

Charles dug his fingers into Erik’s hips and tightened his mouth around him. _Later, then_. Erik closed his eyes, and nearly lost himself; when he felt Charles’ fingertip pressing against his hole, his eyes flew open again. Charles’ finger slid into him and Erik gasped, panted, and came, a shuddering, emptying release, one that seemed to go on and on as he dazedly watched Charles swallow around him, lap at him, and lick his lips.

“Are you—” Making this longer for me, he meant to say. He’d suspected Charles was able to do that.

 _I’m not_ , Charles replied, sounding breathless. _It’s strong enough on its own, you don’t need my help. I am borrowing it, however, and you’re sensing how that feels for me—Erik, you feel—it feels—_

“I know,” Erik rasped, shuddering anew at the feeling of Charles in his mind, soaking up his pleasure and feeding back his resulting shivering delight.

Finally, he sat back just a bit, Charles relinquishing his softening, slick cock. His thighs were shaking. He blinked, gulped, flexed his fingers on the headboard, and then rested his hands at his sides. Withdrawing his finger, Charles cupped his hip, with his other hand finding Erik’s nearest and lacing their fingers together, squeezing tightly for a moment, smiling up at him. Such fondness, such regard brimming in his eyes. Erik had missed it so much. 

_Was that worth waiting ten—twelve years for, darling?_ Charles’ tone was light and teasing, but there was a deep well of emotion under it.

In answer, Erik moved swiftly but somewhat clumsily to bridge himself over Charles and kiss him, tasting himself. They kissed as if they could make up the time they hadn’t spent kissing these last ten years. When his arms became tired, Charles gently guided him, again with those proprietary hands, to rest his weight more fully on Charles, kissing him still, until at last Erik had to catch his breath. And then Charles pressed kisses to his cheeks, his jaw, his temple, before letting Erik settle in against him. 

“I’m ruining your clothes,” Erik said into Charles’ neck, pressed into his starched collar, conscious of how sweat-slick he still was.

Charles chuckled softly. “The last thing on my mind, my friend.”

Erik’s thighs were still shaking a bit. He laughed, breathless. “I don’t think I can walk,” he said, and then froze in horror at his own statement.

Charles let out a surprised bark of laughter. “That makes two of us,” he said, shaking with mirth, wrapping an arm tightly around Erik.

Once they subsided, Erik was just about to steel himself to get up and at least put his shorts back on when Charles murmured in his ear, “Shall we give dating a proper go, then, you and I? Erik?”

“Let’s,” Erik replied, a lump in his throat disinclining him from saying more than that.

Charles took a deep, slightly shaky breath, let it out in a slow, pleased sigh. “I think at some point I promised you an argument,” he said, and Erik realized his voice, though warm, was wavering slightly and he was sniffling, “but I suppose there’s time enough yet, the night is young.” 

“Yes, you’ve plenty of time to be wrong about something,” Erik replied, dry as he could be despite the fact that he knew Charles could feel his wet lashes against the bare skin above his collar.

“I don’t suppose you bent all the metal in the room without realizing it?” Charles asked hopefully, and Erik remembered what he’d said earlier. 

Erik chuckled. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t think I did. I was far too focused on you.”

“Well, how can I be disappointed, then?” Charles kissed his temple, and added wickedly, “Next time, perhaps.”

“I’ll bend whatever metal you like if you get properly naked for me,” Erik said, reaching for the placket of Charles’ dress shirt. 

“What excellent terms you set,” Charles remarked, smiling and kissing him again.

\-------

“You’re sleeping with one of the people we’re designing the chairs for?” Tony raised a brow.

“You’re concerned it’s a conflict of interest?” Erik guessed. He certainly wasn’t going to stop dating Charles because Tony didn’t like it, but he didn’t want to lose this account, either.

“No, on the contrary, I think it’s great. Gives us a solid in. Repeat business. Way to go, good work.” Tony clapped him on the back, and was gone as quickly as he’d come in a few minutes earlier, eventually managing to casually work his way from asking how their latest client’s project was going to mentioning Charles specifically and getting Erik to admit that they were seeing each other. He wondered who had clued Tony in—ah, Emma. 

Erik sighed, amused. “Telepaths,” he murmured aloud, looking out his window, smiling, then sensing at the back of his mind a gentle nudge from his own telepath, from across town. Such power as Charles had should never be suppressed, and now it wouldn’t be again. 

_I’ll see you tonight, love_ , Charles said, with a little mental caress. _I’ve got some new research to run by you_. Although Charles was still playing and still interested in basketball, he was more and more interested in picking up where he left off with his professorial career—after all, he said, he was “starting to get a bit old and creaky,” and “needed a backup plan.” 

“I’ll keep playing as long as I can, though, at least every now and then,” he’d told Erik. “I know you love watching me,” he’d added, with a wink, and Erik, unable to resist kissing that smug look off his face, didn’t deny it.


End file.
